When All Else Fails, Blame Your Parents
by SqueakTheRabbit
Summary: Sam's not having visions, but he is having dreams. The source of his dreams is a link to the intertwined pasts of the Winchester boys and a mysterious family of hunters. OFC, not a Mary Sue. Please R&R even if you think it's a steaming pile of rat turds.
1. Oh, Mister Sandman

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Sam, Dean, Bobby, etc. Don't sue; it's all in good fun.

Chapter 1

Oh, Mister Sandman

---

_A young woman sat slouched in a wooden chair. Ropes wound around her wrists, ankles and shoulders, tying her to the chair. At some point, she might have fought against the bonds, but she was clearly exhausted and clearly in pain. Her face was a mess of blood and bruises._

_A young man, close in age to the cruelly abused woman, stood in front of her. He chuckled._

_"I'm so glad you stopped screaming. It makes things a tad easier, but it's not nearly as much fun."_

_He knelt down on one knee and whispered something incoherent into her ear. He stroked her hair, mockingly. She looked up with defiance and spat in his face._

_He stood up slowly and backed away half a step then backhanded her. The force of the blow made the chair rock slightly._

_"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" he asked calmly and quietly._

_She took a shallow ragged breath and fought to raise her voice, "You can kiss the fattest part," her body spasmed with hacking coughs, "of my frilly, white ass, you sonuvabi—"_

_He cut off her insult with a swift front kick to her rib cage. The chair fell over backward and landed with a sick thump and the sound of fragile wrist bones cracking._

_---_

Sam gasped and woke with start. He stumbled noisily to the bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. Dean woke to the sound of Sam's retching.

"Dude, what's wrong?"

"The headaches and dreams, they've been making me sick."

"Apparently. You had another dream?"

"Yeah."

"Same one?"

The conversation temporarily took a back seat as Sam vomited again.

"Yeah," said Sam as he stood up and walked the few steps to the sink.

"And you're sure these aren't visions?" Dean asked, worriedly.

Sam rinsed his mouth and splashed his face with cold water, "Yeah, they don't _feel_ like visions."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean leaned against the door frame.

"I always knew the visions would come true. It was this urgent feeling that I had to stop something from happening. These just feel _wrong_."

"Wrong?" Dean's face melted from concern into confusion.

"Yeah."

"Then tell me, Sammy, if you're so sure they're not visions, then why are we driving to DC to look for this chick?"

"Because, I need to know why I keep seeing her."

"How do you know she even exists?"

"They feel wrong, but real. Almost like they already happened…"

"If they already happened, how do you know she's even still alive? You said she got the crap beat out of her, she could be dead."

"Then all the more reason to look for her."

"You don't even know where to look. All you know is somewhere in DC, in an ugly apartment," said Dean, "and let's just say that it already happened, well then there's nothing we can do about it. It could have happened years and years ago."

"It wasn't too long ago, there was a computer in the room," Sam closed his eyes in concentration, "and an iPod on the table."

"Great, there's a good start," said Dean sarcastically, "Sometime in the last ten years, a girl living in a crappy part of DC gets the holy hell kicked out of her by some guy. I'm sure she should be easy to track down. It's not like it's a big city or anything, it's not like there haven't been a lot of these cases."

"Why are you so reluctant?" said Sam as he flushed the toilet and made to leave the bathroom but Dean stood in his way.

"Because all of your visions—"

"It's not a vision." Sam corrected.

"Whatever. The point it, when ever you used to do something psychic, the Yellow Eyed Demon was always involved. And since he's been dead, you've stopped having visions. So what's up with these dreams?"

"I have no idea, but I need to find out. Starting with the girl."

Dean sighed a heavy weary sigh. Sam shoved his way past his brother into the grungy room. "There's no talking you out of this, is there?" asked Dean.

"No." said Sam as he climbed into the bed.

Dean sighed again, it was a very Sam-like sigh. "Alright, tomorrow we keep heading toward Washington. You'd better have more to go on by the time we get there." And with that, Dean, too, crawled into his bed.

---

Motorhead blared through the speakers of the Impala.

"Seriously Dean, can you turn that down?" asked Sam with a huff.

Dean's only response was to turn it up.

"Dude, c'mon, I can't concentrate." Sam looked at his brother pleadingly.

"What are you working so hard on? You've been staring at that notebook all morning."

"I'm making a list of all the things I can remember from the dream."

"What have you got so far?" Dean turned the music down, interested.

"Thank you. I think her name is Lynn Lydon, I haven't ran it through any databases yet, but she looked about twenty."

"And how do you know all this? I thought he didn't say her name."

"He didn't, but there was mail on the table by the iPod and it was addressed to Lynn Lydon."

"You saw her name on the envelope?"

"I think so."

"You _think_ so?"

"They're dreams, Dean, I can't just zoom in and out. It's all fuzzy, but yeah, I'm pretty sure it said Lynn Lydon."

"What makes you think she's in Washington?"

"The license plates on the cars. When it starts, I'm standing outside and the man walks past me and into an apartment building. Then I'm inside the building and in the room, like a flash and I'm just standing there watching him beat on some girl tied to a chair. He kicks her in the stomach and the chair falls back and I wake up with a Hell of a headache and nauseous."

"Still not much to go on."

"Yeah, but it's enough."

"Barely," said Dean, begrudgingly.

---

They drove for hours before reaching Washington DC. Dean drove aimlessly around the city until he found a diner. The sun was beginning to set. Sam was dozing in his seat; Dean nudged him less than gently.

"Alright, we're here," Dean told Sam, "let's eat and you do your thing with the computer."

Sam slid into the booth of the sleazy diner and immediately opened his laptop. As Dean flipped through his menu, Sam could be heard typing busily away. Dean stared out the dirty window into the parking lot. When Dean ordered a bacon cheese burger, Sam did nothing but sip his coffee.

"Dude, you're like a mad man." said Dean.

"Don't bug me; I'm almost into the database."

"Fine." Dean took a bite out of his burger and continued to stare out the window. He chewed nosily and sipped his coke. "Anything yet?" He asked again after a few more minutes.

"No."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Okay, I think I got it, one sec." He pushed a few more buttons and sat back. "Okay, I'm into DC's police database." He paused as he searched the name. "God dammit! Nothing, absolutely nothing."

"Nothing at all?"

"No Lynn Lydon has ever lived in or been connected to a crime in this city."

"What now?"

"Well, I'm gonna search just the last name and see what I get."

"Can you expand the search to nation wide?"

"I don't think so, police databases are local, not federal, they're connected, but I'm not sure how to hack the connection. Hold on—" Sam furrowed his brow in concentration.

"Anything on her last name?" asked Dean.

"That's what I'm looking at, a woman, Irene Lydon, died about six years ago."

"Is it her?"

"No, she was fifty-five when she died, and not from a beating." Sam scrolled down the police report "Dude, she was decapitated."

"Decapitated? How?"

"Police report says a neighbor found her, she died sometime during the night, they thought home invasion until the coroner said the head wasn't cut, it was ripped from her body."

"Someone or something ripped her head off? That's starting the drift into our territory…"

"They suspected her daughter—"

"Her daughter?"

"Yeah, but her alibi checked out."

"Wait, hold on, what was the mothers name?"

"Irene Lydon, why, does the name ring a bell?"

"Yeah, but I can't think of why, what was her daughter's name?"

Sam glanced at the computer screen for a few seconds and then looked at Dean triumphantly, " I think I just found Lynn Lydon. The daughter's name was Jennifer Lydon, Jennifer _Lynn_ Lydon."

"Alright, time to go."

"Huh, go where?"

"To a motel, I'm now realizing how public this place is."

Sam shut the laptop lid and Dean scooted out of the booth to pay the check. Sam followed reluctantly after his brother, he was irritated about being forced to pause his search, especially since he had made a significant breakthrough.

Later that night, they discovered that Irene Lydon's killer had never been caught. Lynn lived with her older sister until she finished out the remainder of her senior year. Then shortly after her graduation, she left the suburbs to live in DC.

"Three years ago, Jennifer Lydon was attacked in her apartment by her boyfriend, Peter Ardell. According to her statement, she was in her apartment, making dinner and her boyfriend, came home. He hit her over the head with something heavy, knocked her out, and when she woke up she was tied to the chair. He beat the living crap out of her, and after four hours, one of her neighbors got tired of all the screaming and called the cops. They bust in, but the boyfriend was already gone out the fire escape."

"Nice neighbors. Did they ever find him?" asked Dean.

"No, he skipped town and was last seen near the Canadian border. But one part of her statement is particularly interesting."

"What's that?"

"She claimed he had black eyes."

"Like demon possession black eyes?"

"Not in so many words, but yeah, that's what it sounds like. It makes sense though, doesn't it? He's a perfectly good, upstanding citizen and loving boyfriend and out of no where, he attacks and nearly kills his girlfriend."

"Why didn't he just kill her?"

"Dunno, but he worked her over pretty good, her left wrist was broken in three places, she had a fractured collar bone and two broken ribs, plus a concussion and a sprained ankle; not to mention dozens of bruises and cuts. Look at the pictures; I'm surprised he didn't knock her teeth out."

Dean came to stand behind Sam; he let out a long, low whistle. The pictures were grotesque, her face was swollen and bruised, her wrist was bent at an awkward angle, and her abdomen was a mess. He could barely look at them for too long.

"So where is she now?"

"No idea, she changed her name and dropped off the grid."

"What'd she change it too?"

"Those kinds records are sealed, can't get to 'em without a court order, but I think if I could get into city hall, I might be able to log on to their servers."

"We're gonna need disguises, aren't we?"

"And maybe a few fake badges."

"Great," said Dean sarcastically.

---

They were dressed in dark blue jumpsuits, claiming to be electricians who were sent to look at some faulty wiring in the offices. The young woman at reception took one look at Dean and let them through and into the elevators. It didn't take Sam long to find a computer to hack and download the information they needed. They were in and out of city hall in less than an hour and no one gave them a second glace. Except for the receptionist, she gave Dean a third and fourth glance…

Once they were back in the motel, they went over their information. Lynn had changed her name to Laura Jenkins and was currently living New York. She lived alone, worked days in a diner and nights in a bar.

It was more than a good start.

---

[A/N okso, i'm not too thrilled with the opening chapter. i've written better but i needed to get ths fic started. yes there will be an OFC. but (and i know everybody says this) it won't be a mary sue. and if it starts to drift into the forbidden domain of mary-sue-dom please fell free to tell me.

and if you care to read on, chapter 2 will be up in the next couple of days.


	2. Perry's Diner

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Sam, Dean, Bobby, etc. Don't sue; it's all in good fun.

Chapter 2

Perry's Diner

---

Laura Jenkins leaned against the wall of Perry's Diner in Brooklyn. She puffed lazily on the end of her cigarette. She checked her watch, it was 2:15 PM and her break was almost over. She shivered in her coat. It was twenty-four degrees and all she was wearing beneath her coat was the mint green waitress' uniform that flattered no one. Her teeth chattered as she took her last drag, and she tossed the butt into the street.

"Hey, Laura!" She whipped around to see Marla leaning out the door. "Come back inside, it's freezing. I need to talk to you."

Laura looked at her watch and realized she had to go back inside anyway, her break was up. She strode toward the door quickly. "What's up?" She asked as soon as the door closed behind her.

"Could you do me a huge favor?" asked Marla, her face waiting for the rejection so she would have an excuse to pout her big, brown eyes and red, chapped lips.

"Depends on the favor." Replied Laura, she could see Marla was gearing up for and onslaught of her famous 'pity me' look.

"I have to pick up Andrew from school. Derek said I could take off the last two hours of my shift if I could find someone to cover my tables. Your shift would still end at 4:30 but you'd have twice as many tables."

She took a deep breath. "Fine, I'll do it. But don't make a habit of this. I'm only doing it today because I need the tips."

"Thank you SO much!" Marla said, she was already half way out the door, "I'll totally make it up to you."

Laura rolled her eyes. "No you won't." she said mumbled quietly. As she turned to walk away, someone bumped her shoulder. "Sorry," she said as she took off her jacket and strolled toward the kitchen.

An angry little man with a budding unibrow stalked toward her, "Hey! Laura, how many times have I told you, you can't take long breaks during the lunch hours!"

"Derek, it's like 2:30. It's not the lunch hour anymore." She said tiredly.

"That doesn't mean you can take long breaks whenever you want!" he replied.

"I didn't take a long break. I took ten minutes for a smoke and got sidetracked by Marla—"

"Don't wanna hear it." He interrupted, "You take your break and then you get your ass back in hear and get to work."

"Why, so you can grab it?" She muttered under her breath.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing."

"That's what I thought. Waitresses are easy to find and easy to replace. Get to work." He spun on his tubby little heal and walked into the kitchen.

Laura hung her jacket on the rack behind the counter. She grabbed her white apron and tied it on; she tucked a pencil behind her ear and waded into the battlefield known as the food-service industry.

---

Dean opened the door to Perry's diner and nearly tripped over some waitress with shaggy brown hair. He heard her mutter 'sorry' but he was too interested in watching her backside walk away to pay attention to what she was saying.

The brothers slid into the booth of Perry's diner. Sam scanned the waitresses to find Lynn while Dean scanned the waitress' asses.

"You see her?" asked Dean.

"No, but I'm not sure I would recognize her, even if she was working today."

Laura saw one of her tables was occupied. She casually approached the two men at the table and handed them menus.

Dean looked at her appraisingly. Her brown hair was shaggy and fell just below her pointed chin. She stood a healthy 5'7" with nice, if not somewhat broad, shoulders and equal hips to match. Her face was round with a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and pert little nose. Her gray eyes sparkled.

"Hello, welcome to Perry's," she said in a drippingly cheery voice, "My name is Laura; I'll be your server. Today, our lunch special is a tuna and cheddar melt on rye served with fries. Can I get you two boys anything to drink?" She pulled out her notepad and the pencil from her hair.

"Coke." said the two men together.

She chuckled, "Two cokes, do you two need more time to decide, or are you ready?"

Sam gulped, "I think we need more time."

"Okay, I'll go grab those cokes; I'll be back in a few." She turned and walked away.

Sam grabbed Dean's arm, "That's her!" he said in a hoarse whisper.

"You sure?" asked Dean.

"Positive. She looks like the girl from the dream and she said her name was Laura. Lynn Lydon changed her name to Laura Jenkins after the attack."

"Alright, what now? You found her, that's what you wanted to do, right? She's alive and well; can we please move onto a real case?" asked Dean.

"I don't know. What if Peter was possessed when he attacked her? Shouldn't we find out?"

"Sam, even if he was possessed, it happened three years ago, in another city, and for all we know, this Peter guy is somewhere in Siberia, livin' it up the Eskimos. There's nothing—"

Laura was back, "Have you decided?"

"Uh, yeah," said Sam as he handed her his menu, "I'll have that tuna thing."

She scratched something down on her notepad and turned to Dean, "And what can I do for you?"

Dean smirked at the opening, "Well, there's a lot you could _do to me_," he pretended to cough, "Sorry, there's a lot you could _do for me_, but I'll just go with your special."

She rolled her eyes and snatched his menu. She waltzed angrily away; and again, Dean watched her retreating backside.

Sam copied Laura and rolled his eyes but Dean was still staring. He snapped his fingers in Dean's face. "Dude, c'mon, focus, time to think with your upstairs brain. Okay, let's just say it was a demon," Dean was still staring, "Dean! Pay attention!"

"Aww, chill out, Sammy, lemme have a little fun."

Sam sighed, "Whatever."

It didn't take more than ten minutes for their food to arrive. But by then, Dean was already bored with Laura and was watching another waitress. Laura shuffled her way to their table and gently placed the plate in front of Sam. She nearly threw Dean's. "Careful," she said to Sam, "The plate is still hot."

"I'll tell what else is still ho—" started Dean.

"Finish that sentence, and I'll put a fork through your cornea." Laura interrupted as she stared him down with her eyebrows raised.

Dean shut his mouth.

"That's what I thought," she said, "and if that's all you _boys_ will be needing, I'll leave your check and you can pay at the front."

As she turned to walk away Dean said, "I wish you'd leave more than a check." She stopped and looked like she was about to say something, but thought better of it.

"Are you trying to get slapped?" asked Sam. "Because, for a second there, I really thought she was gonna shove a fork in your eye."

"It's all in good fun, Sammy." replied Dean as he took a large bite out of his sandwich.

"You know, eventually, we're going to have to talk to her about what we know."

"Yeah, and?" he said as chewed.

"I'm just saying, don't burn any bridges." Sam ate a few fries and sipped his coke.

Dean stuffed his face with fries and sandwich. He chewed noisily and slurped his soda. "Sam, we don't _know_ anything. All we have are a few wacky dreams and shaky statement that could mean anything."

Sam winced at his brother's barbaric consumption of his food. "So, we shouldn't even dig around? We've looked into less."

"Dig around into what? It happened _three_ _years ago._ We've already looked at the police report, there's no crime scene anymore, no fresh evidence. What's there to investigate?"

"We could talk to the witness. Or… we could search her place? I can't just leave; I can't just _let it go._" said Sam with earnest.

"What do you think we're gonna find?"

"I don't know."

"Just eat your food." Dean wanted to leave. He wanted to get in his car and drive far away and never hear about this Lynn chick again, but he knew Sam wasn't about to leave and he wasn't about to leave without Sam. He put his head in his hands.

"Dean?"

"I know I'm gonna regret this," Dean said as he looked up, "But fine, we'll search her place and if we find anything odd, we'll talk to her. But if we don't, we leave."

"Thank you." Sam finally began to really eat. Dean cleaned his in record time and started picking at Sam's fries. "Dude, cut it out, I'm still eating."

After Sam finished, they made their way to the cash register, and Sam silently thanked any and all deities that might exist, that there was different waitress at the register. Dean was probably cursing them. Sam paid their bill and the brothers headed for the door. As they left, they spotted Laura. She was leaning against the wall, shivering, while finishing another cigarette.

"You know, smoking's bad for you." Dean said as they walked past her; he looked over his shoulder to see her reaction. She blew her smoke in his face and glared. Dean didn't even flinch.

Sam sighed inwardly and pulled on Dean's jacket. "C'mon, Dean."

They hurried in the cold toward the Impala, which was parked on the other side of the road half a block away. Neither brother had anticipated the difficulties of parking in New York City and they shivered like crack addicts the whole way to the car. Early January had brought temperatures below freezing and a snow storms were supposedly on their way. Dean's cold hands fumbled the keys until he managed the put the key in the lock. After a quick turn, the boys quickly got in the car.

"Okay, so where does this girl live?" asked Dean.

"Not too far from here; straight up this road, about two miles and then a left onto Birch Avenue and then the Milton Apartment Complex should be on our right. She lives on the ninth floor, apartment 979," replied Sam as he looked down at his notebook. "It's close enough, we could walk." He began, half jokingly.

"No, no, no, no, no. We drive. I was freezing my balls off out there." said Dean as he pulled away from the curb.

"It's not that cold." Sam said with a chuckle.

"Shut up, Sam. We're almost there."

"Yeah, but where do we park?" asked Sam.

Dean looked around, there were cars parked all along the curb, all the way up the street. "Oh, good point…"

-----

[A/N: okay, here's chapter 2, a day later than i was shooting for. but judging from the complete and total lack of reviews, no one is reading this anyway. so i guess it doesn't matter. regardless, i'm gonna try and have chapter 3 up by sunday.


	3. Caution Versus Paranoia

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Sam, Dean, Bobby, etc. Don't sue; it's all in good fun

Chapter 3

Caution Versus Paranoia

---

Laura leaned against the wall of the diner, like she so often did, and watched the two men walk away._I hate my job_, she thought. There were always pigheaded men who hit on the waitresses; very few_ gentlemen_ ate at Perry's Diner. She tended to ignore them, but occasionally Laura couldn't hold back. She closed her eyes and continued to smoke her cigarette. It wasn't her break time, and any minute, Derek would waddle outside to find her and give her an earful. It was three o'clock and in and hour and a half, her shift would be over and then she could go home. She silently prayed she wouldn't have a bartend at the club that night.

Then right on time, "Laura! What the fuck are you doing?!" Derek found her.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she dropped her cigarette on the pavement and stepped it out as she went inside.

---

After driving around for fifteen minutes or so, Sam and Dean found a parking garage about three blocks from the apartment complex. The brothers hugged their coats close as they walked quickly toward the entrance. The complex was made up of four separate buildings, two were nine stories high and two were five. The lot was large and fenced in. Each building sat in a corner, with a courtyard in the middle. The Milton Apartment Complex could have been a nice place to live, but it was smack in the middle of the bad side of Brooklyn, and the landlord didn't give two shits if the place looked like a homeless shelter or the Ritz. Sam walked in first; he swung the door wide, allowing Dean to catch it and walk in after.

"Jesus Christ," said Dean, "What a shit hole."

"It's not that bad."

"Yes, yes it is." He looked around the lobby. If it could be called a lobby, it was just a big empty room with an elevator, access to the staircase, and a hallway probably leading to the first floor apartments. The paint was chipping, the plaster was cracked and the floor was so scuffed and dirty, Dean couldn't tell if it was linoleum or wood. Sam headed for the elevator and hit the button. They waited a few seconds and the doors opened. Dean hit the nine button as they stepped inside and after the doors closed, the elevator gave a disconcerting lurch. "I think I hate this elevator." Dean stood in the corner and held on to the walls. The elevator lurched again and Dean shifted uncomfortably. It soon stopped and the doors opened.

"Apartment 979, which, I think is this way," Sam pointed to the left. They walked past the doors, watching the numbers ascend until they stood in front of apartment 979. "Lockpick?"

Dean dug around in his pocket, "Here," he handed them to Sam.

Sam knelt down and inserted the two thin metal picks into the lock. He twisted, jiggled, and poked around till he heard a satisfying click as Dean stood there with his hands in his pockets. Sam pushed the door open.

"And I thought the lobby was bad…" said Dean.

"Yeah, it could use a little fixing up."

"That's an understatement."

The door opened up to a small living room and the first thing they saw was an ugly couch with a scratched coffee facing a small television on the in the middle of the room. The walls were an awful color that was not dissimilar to coffee mixed with mustard, in some places the dry wall had fallen away, revealing the brick underneath. There was a table in the far right corner with a laptop and iPod and littered with paper. Shelves, haphazardly stuffed with books, lined the wall behind the table and a tattered old office chair had been rolled under it, besides the sofa, the chair was the only other seating in the room. There were several ashtrays throughout the small apartment filling it with the unmistakable smell of stale cigarettes.

"Well, I guess she doesn't like company," said Dean.

A miniscule kitchen sat behind the living room, the only divider being where the carpet in the living room ended and linoleum in the kitchen began. Together, the whole room, including the kitchen, was only thirteen by fifteen feet. There was a single door leading to an even smaller bedroom.

"You search the front room, I'll take the bedroom," said Dean.

"Whatever."

"Sweet."

Sam stood in front of the room and looked around. He decided to start with table, he opened the laptop and turned it on. As he let it boot up he poked around the papers. For the most part, they weren't that interesting. They were mostly drawings and doodles. The computer wasn't password protected and it didn't take Sam very long to scan through her documents. There wasn't much on the computer but music. She didn't have much in the way of emails either. She had no saved emails and no names in her online address book. There was some spam in her inbox but from the looks of her email account, she wasn't in contact with many people. He shut down the computer and moved on to the kitchen.

Dean hadn't found anything incriminating or anything remotely interesting, except for her underwear drawer, of course.

There wasn't anything particularly strange about her refrigerator or in her oven or in her cupboards. There were a few empty liquor bottles on her counter but it was hardly worth mentioning. Sam opened her microwave and her drawers. But it wasn't until he picked up her kettle to move it, did he notice anything odd. When he lifted the kettle, something heavy scraped the inside. He pried off the lid.

"Hey Dean, look what I found."

Dean stuck his head out he door, "What?"

"Gun."

"Gun?" asked Dean.

"Gun. A loaded .38 snub-nosed revolver. It was in the kettle."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. She must not drink a lot of tea." Sam carefully reached in and pulled out a small hand gun and handed it to Dean.

"It's interesting, but that doesn't mean this is our kind of gig." Dean turned the gun over in his hands and inspected it. Then he handed it back to Sam.

"Yeah I know, what about you? Find anything?"

"Apart from a leopard print thong and matching bra, that I would love to see her in… No, I got nothing."

"Get your hands out of her underwear drawer and look harder, please."

Dean shrugged and went back to the bedroom. He looked under the bed, and besides a few shoes and some lint, there was nothing worth mentioning. He stood up and moved on to the closet. The closet was small and had no door, just a ratty old curtain. Shoes and hats covered the floor. He sorted through her closet and he found a few outfits that might make a stripper blush, but mostly just clothes. He looked up and saw a box sitting on the one and only shelf in the closet. He reached up and lugged it down and put it on the bed.

"Hey Sammy."

"You find anything?"

"Not sure, I found a box in her closet. It's full of a lot of stuff, come help me look through it." Dean opened the box and dumped it on the bed.

"Dude," said Sam as he saw, "You're making a mess."

"I'll put it back."

Sam just rolled his eyes. The box was full of newspaper clippings, high school yearbooks, stacks of baby pictures and family photos, and other personal trinkets. "Most of the clippings are about her mother's murder. Here's the first printed story, the obituary, a follow up to the original report, on and on and on. She must have clipped every article."

Dean flipped through the yearbooks and started on the stacks of pictures. Sam was still looking at the news paper articles.

"Here, help me with these," Dean handed Sam some of the pictures.

"Yeah, sure." Sam took the offered photos and started flipping through them.

"Wait a second," said Dean as he stared at one of the pictures.

"What?"

"Sonuvabitch," muttered Dean, "Sam, I think you were right."

"Dean, what is it?"

"Look, you may not recognize him, you were young, but that's Joe Lydon." Dean was looking at a family portrait photograph of a man and a woman and two little girls.

"I'm sorry, who?"

"Joe Lydon. I was eleven or twelve and you would have been about seven. He was a hunter."

"A hunter?"

"Yeah, he died years ago. We went to his funeral in Indiana."

"We did?"

"Don't you remember? Dad was finishing a job in Minnesota when he got a call from Pastor Jim," Dean sat back on the bed, "Jim called to tell him that Joe had died and then we drove all night to Indiana so that Dad could be at the funeral." Dean watched the realization hit Sam. "And do you remember the wake, after the service? The little girl?"

"Oh my God, do you think it's the same girl?" asked Sam.

"Yes, I do. I recognized the last name but I couldn't place it until now."

"Do you think she knows about her father?"

"Dunno, I think we should call Bobby and then we should talk to Laura or Lynn, or whatever the Hell her name is."

"Alright, keep the photo, but put everything back the way you found it," said Sam.

"Thank you, but I have done this before."

"Okay, you finish up in here, I'm gonna finish up in the living room." Now that they had something specific to look for, they knew where to look.

Dean moved onto her dresser. There were a few knick-knacks and a jewelry box that didn't hold much jewelry, except a very interesting necklace. He had already thoroughly searched her underwear drawer. He dug around in a drawer filled with pajamas and his hand brushed something hard. And he reached down. "Sammy," he said.

"What?"

"Gun."

Sam peered into the bedroom. "Gun?"

"A loaded Beretta M9 to be specific. Good choice, too, I believe we have one in the trunk."

"What the Hell?"

"Oh, and I'm not finished," said Dean he reached in again and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He dangled them on one finger. "You know, I think I'm starting to like this girl."

"Two guns and a pair of handcuffs? What is this girl up to?"

"But wait, there's more," said Dean in his best television announcer voice, "Look under her pillow."

Sam lifted up her pillow to find a meat cleaver. "Are you serious?"

"Yup. And that's not all. In her jewelry box, there's and iron pendant on a chain." Dean picked it up, "Well, I'm pretty sure it's consecrated iron, and the pendent itself is a pretty powerful protection charm."

"Why isn't she wearing it?"

"Well, let's assume, she doesn't know what her father used to do, she probably doesn't even know what it is."

Sam looked at his watch, it was almost four. "Dean, we should probably leave, we don't know when her shift ends."

"Yeah, okay, lemme just put this stuff back. Oh, and I found her stash."

"What?"

Dean held up a little baggy full of pot.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Put that back, Dean. We gotta go."

"Yeah, yeah."

They quickly put everything back the way they found it and began to leave.

"When do you wanna call Bobby?" asked Dean.

"As soon as possible," replied Sam.

"We should find that bar she works at and go talk to her." Dean closed the door behind him.

"Our best bet is to call Bobby first. We don't know what she knows. There's a good chance she has no clue who her father was. And then she's going to think we're just crazy. And what about the weapons?" asked Sam as they stepped into the elevator.

"What about them? In this city, she's just being cautious."

"Cautious is a can of pepper spray and a baseball bat. Two guns, a pair of handcuffs, and a meat cleaver is paranoia."

"I don't know if those handcuffs were necessarily for self defense…." Dean said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

They walked through the lobby and out the door.

"Get your mind out of the gutter,"

"Never."

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[A/N: here is chapter 3, and it's up by Sunday. yay me. please r/r, I'd really appreciate it. Expect the next chapter in a few days or so.


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